


In Tandem

by anythingbutplatonic



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: 4x02, 4x03, BDSM, Domme!Felicity, F/M, Mutual Masturbation, Nipple Play, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Restoration, Sensory Overload, The Candidate, implied PTSD and anxiety, sub!oliver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 03:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5076406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingbutplatonic/pseuds/anythingbutplatonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the challenges of being a brand-new CEO mount up in the weeks following her acceptance of the role officially, and with the Ghosts as formidable as ever on the streets, Felicity introduces a special new rule to their usual stress-relief routine. </p>
<p>Takes place at some point between 4x02 and 4x03.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Tandem

If you’d asked Felicity seven months ago whether she saw herself as the kind of woman who was experimental in the bedroom, she would have promptly choked on whatever beverage or food item she was consuming at the time, quickly followed by turning a violent shade of red and making a lame excuse to leave the immediate vicinity so that she could figure out how to breathe normally again.

As it was, a lot could change in seven months. 

The evidence was currently spread out underneath her, clad only in his underwear, shallow breaths making his chest rise and fall rapidly as his fingers twitched toward her, desperate to touch but not daring to disobey her command not to do so. 

The lamplight made his skin glow, and threw the hard angles and lines of his body into sharp relief; it picked out the edges of the scars that decorated his chest and shoulders, and the gentle swell of muscle at his stomach and hips and arms. 

That body - this man - belonged to her. It had always belonged to her, in a way, because they had always somehow been fated to come together, one way or another. And now they had, and nothing in the world had ever felt quite like it.

_God, she loved him._

It sometimes - more than sometimes, frequently, often, always - stole her breath away how much she loved him. 

Tonight was no exception. Or perhaps it was, because she had a proposition for him - something they hadn’t tried before. 

Something in the heat that was slowly rising in her blood, rolling off of her’s and Oliver’s bodies in almost tangible waves, told her that it would be something they were both going to enjoy. 

Felicity sat back on her heels, her bare thighs locking around Oliver’s own. She had pulled her hair free of its ponytail, and it hung loose over her shoulders, a blonde curtain that she now pushed back over one shoulder as she pressed her front teeth into her bottom lip once, twice, three times. 

The initial setting of the scene always made her stomach twist, half with pleasure and half with nervousness, sending a thrill up her spine that spread to every inch of her body and set her nerves alight in the best way possible.

They both needed this. The stress of their jobs - both hers as CEO of Palmer Technologies and his as the Green Arrow, saving and protecting the city they had recently decided to make their home once again - was a burden neither wished to carry alone, and both had promised that they would never have to. 

In whispered conversations when they went to bed each night, in gentle touches and soft kisses, in words of affirmation, they told each other,  _You are not alone_.

Sometimes it wasn’t enough. 

That’s what this... _arrangement_  was for. 

More of a routine, really, a way of letting go of the stresses that built up in their bodies, all the worries and anxieties of the day-to-day business of running a Fortune 500 company and confronting the most dangerous criminals in Star City that wedged themselves under their skin. 

Felicity swallowed, letting go of her bottom lip. She straightened, adjusting herself where she was straddled across Oliver’s waist, and when she spoke, her voice was low but neutral, though the question she asked was anything but. 

“Do you remember the safeword?”

She watched as the muscles in Oliver’s throat and jaw worked, the words he needed getting stuck around a dry mouth and thick tongue. 

When she had him like this, words tended to fail him. Not that it really mattered. Not when it wasn’t words but actions that counted. But Felicity did need to hear him respond. She wouldn’t be comfortable until she knew he understood. 

Finally, he replied, his voice rough, and his breath shook on the single syllable. “Yes.”

Felicity arched an eyebrow, letting her jewel-toned nails dig into the muscles of his stomach where her palm lay flat, enough to nip at the skin and make it sting. To get his attention.

“Yes,  _what_?”

Oliver’s tongue came out to flick over his lips, his breath shuddering in his chest. She could feel the anticipation in every line of his body, could see it stirring behind the deep, clear blue of his eyes, eyes that slid half-closed now as he found his voice again.

“Yes, Mistress.”

Felicity nodded, once. “That’s very good, Oliver. Thank you.” Her hands found his thighs, stroking over the strong muscle with sure, slow movements. Something she knew relaxed him. Helped him to let go more easily. 

It was something he still had trouble with, even now, after six months on the road and so much progress made. Old habits died hard, or so they said, and Felicity knew that more than most. She’d seen the way re-adjusting to this life had been more of a struggle for Oliver than he had let on, had noticed little things that the others had missed. 

Oliver’s eyes slipped closed, and he stopped trying to fight the urge to reach for her; his hands relaxed at his sides, his breathing evened out. The light from the lamp lit up the planes of his face in gold and shadows and made him look an angel. 

_An avenging angel_ , she thought.  _The deadliest in battle, but also the cutest._

“No falling asleep on me, now,” Felicity chuckled, scraping her nails across the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, the fairish hair there catching between her fingers. Oliver gasped, his eyes flying open - and his gasp became a groan when she suddenly dug her nails in harder, raking them across his skin and leaving red lines in their wake. 

He whined when she pulled her hands away to rest at her sides, but Felicity remained neutral. The night was far from over; she didn’t want to bring things to a peak too quickly. That wasn’t what this was about. 

“I have something different in mind tonight,” Felicity said. “A new rule. I think you’re gonna like it.” She bit her lip,  a giggle bubbling up in her throat. “At least, I hope you do.”

It was funny, how her tendency to babble disappeared when she was in control. Maybe she should think about making it permanent. 

Or perhaps not. 

“Tonight,” Felicity continued, feeling the familiar tingle and burn of arousal starting up her spine as her words registered in her own head as well as Oliver’s, “you are not allowed to come until I do. Is that understood?”

For a few long moments, there was nothing but silence permeated by the sound of their own breathing; Felicity’s even and steady, Oliver’s harsh and rasping. She watched as his eyes tracked over her face, her body, the lacy purple panties she wore. The only thing, except his own underwear, separating their bodies. 

He stared, and she watched him staring, the way she always had. The way he always said he did, when she looked at him. They’d noticed each other long before any of..... _this -_ them as a couple, a real relationship - had even been on the table in their minds. And now that it was finally something real, something to call their own, they still stared, though now it wasn’t with longing for something that they couldn’t have, but with desire for something they knew was theirs and were adamant they would never let go of. 

“Understood,” Oliver whispered, breaking the silence at last. Then he added, “ _Mistress_.” 

She didn’t think she would ever fully get used to hearing him call her that. 

She didn’t think she wanted to. 

Felicity shook back her hair, twined a few strands of it absently around her finger. Buying time. Making him wait. 

But she wasn’t  _that_  cruel. She knew what he wanted, and she would give it to him. 

“Kiss me,” she ordered softly, pressing the tip of her finger to her lips, indicating where she wanted it. “Right here.” 

The command didn’t go unacknowledged; the mattress springs creaking as his weight shifted, Oliver sat up, the yellow light playing over the muscles in his shoulders. He wasted no time in pressing his mouth to hers, tasting Felicity’s lipstick and the wine they’d drunk before coming up to bed, sweet and warm on her lips. 

And Felicity responded in kind, parting her lips just enough for him run the tip of his tongue along her bottom lip, her eyes fluttering closed as he licked around the seam of her mouth.

“Put your hands on my waist,” Felicity murmured against his mouth, feeling the prickle of his stubble against her chin and jaw, “under my tank top.”

Without ever breaking the kiss, Oliver slid his hands under her thin tank as she had told him to, his fingers finding the sensitive skin of her sides. The air in the room was cool, but the heat of their bodies was rising in the narrow space between them, and Felicity found herself feeling both hot and cold as her pleasure curled up her spine and down between her legs, where she felt herself throb against the thin lace of her panties.

Felicity reached up to cup his jaw, anchoring him in place as she deepened the kiss, giving him permission to slip his tongue into her mouth to caress hers. Nonverbal commands weren’t her usual style - it was important that there was clear communication between them, and that couldn’t happen if she didn’t speak her desires out loud - but would sometimes make the exception, inviting him to read her body the way only he knew how.

Pressed so close, she could feel the heat of his skin and the harshness of his breath, and the scars that criss-crossed his back and shoulders were rough under her fingers where she slid her hands over the muscle, feeling him, exploring him, getting him to open up to her.

Her hands slipped lower, to find the hot skin of his lower back and the waistband of his underwear, and she felt him jerk against her mouth in a bruising kiss when she brushed over the sensitive skin of the burn mark on the base of his spine, tracing the ticklish edge of the scar with her nail. 

Felicity pulled away, breaking the kiss suddenly; panting hard, her chest heaving, she saw confusion cross Oliver’s face. There was colour high on his cheekbones, and his eyes were almost black in the shadow cast by his large frame blocking the lamplight. 

And then it was gone, and there was only the rapt expression she had long become accustomed to seeing on his face whenever he looked at her. 

Once, twice, she pressed her lips to his, the kisses sweet and chaste. When she pulled away again, she could feel the stiffness of his arousal between her legs, and it made her own heat throb and her blood pulse. 

“Soon,” she reassured him softly, shifting her position so that she could rub up against him, barely - but enough to make him gasp in surprise at the sudden contact, his eyelids fluttering as he tried to contain the groan that rumbled in his chest. It didn’t work, and the sound went straight to her core, almost pulling her from the task at hand, but not quite; she bit down hard on her lip, and the pain brought her back to the scene, to Oliver and his rapturous gaze. “But you need to be patient. You remember what I said before?”

“You said I wasn’t allowed to come,” Oliver replied hoarsely, wetting his lips with his tongue. They were swollen from kissing, dark pink. “Not before you did. And I won’t. I won’t, Mistress.”

It was the most he’d said all night. The earnestness in his voice, the eagerness to please and the willingness to follow her instructions  - Felicity was reminded of just why she had fallen in love with him in the first place. Because they trusted each other. Because she was the only one he was willing to rescind his control to, and trusted that she would care for him when he did.

Not to mention, staring at those pink lips of his made her nipples tighten further under the thin material of her tank top, and the lace and satin of her panties was suddenly too irritating against her sensitive skin.

 “Take off my top,” she ordered. “Slowly.” 

His gaze never wavering from hers, he gripped the hem of her shirt and pulled; she lifted her arms up so that he could slide it over her head, the fabric rasping against her skin. When his fingers brushed the freshly-shaven skin under her armpits, still sensitive from the razor, she shivered and let out a sigh. 

And then her tank top was off, and she was left nude except for her tiny purple panties, the cool air hitting her bare breasts. The contrast between the heat throbbing at her center and the coolness of her naked chest was startling, but she gave nothing away as she locked her bare legs around Oliver’s waist.

The movement pushed them closer together, now mere inches apart, and even like this she had to lean back slightly in order to look him in the eye. He was bigger, stronger, and taller than her, and yet he was at her mercy. Waiting for what she would ask of him next, and obeying not because he had to, but because he wanted to. 

Would Oliver ever cease to surprise her in all the best ways?

She hoped not. Not now, not ever.

Felicity kissed him sweetly, slowly. When she pulled away, she took both his hands and guided them to her hips. 

“Hold on,” she whispered, barely giving him a warning before starting to roll her hips in slow circles, pressing herself right up against the bulge of his erection. Her movements were deliberate, the drag of fabric against fabric and bare skin against bare skin leaving them both gasping, Felicity letting out tiny sighs and  _oh’_ s of pleasure as she tipped her head back and pressed down harder, feeling her own damp panties rubbing against the wet head of Oliver’s cock, thickening in his boxers as she moved against him. 

Oliver’s grip on her hips tightened, keeping her in place as the mattress creaked beneath them, the sheets slipping and trailing onto the floor, and he didn’t let go even as she guided his hands up her back to her shoulder blades, urging him to hold her in place as she panted, “Put your mouth on my breasts.” 

Ever eager, he didn’t need to be told twice, ducking to suck and bite at the sensitive skin of first her right and then left breast, pressing soft kisses to the sensitive underside before scraping his teeth across the bud of each nipple. It was just as she liked it, soft lips and harsh teeth and the rough scratch of his stubble across her ribcage creating an overload of sensations that sent her pulse hammering and a wonderful, warm wetness flooding her core, sticking her panties to her thighs and making sweat bead along her hairline. 

She moaned, high and breathy in her throat, scraping her nails across his back as she gasped his name over and over again, “Oliver, Oliver,  _Oliver_...”

They rocked in place, Felicity setting the pace as she pushed her hips up and down, thrusting into his lap as he gripped her ever tighter. His palms slipped over her sweaty skin as he fought to keep his hold on her, his own grunts and whines muffled by the softness of her breasts. 

The head of his cock pushed against her too-sensitive clit on each thrust, and she didn’t know who was more wrecked by the sensation, him or her. Both of them were sweating, panting with the effort of keeping up the pace, and more than once she felt Oliver’s own hips twitch and jerk beneath her, betraying his own desire to take back control. 

When this happened, she gently squeezed his shoulders, reminding him who was in charge. 

_She_  was taking care of  _him_  tonight.

Too soon, she felt the burn in her thighs and the hot ache between her legs that told her that her climax was fast approaching, and yet she wasn’t done, far from it. 

She stopped her thrusts, as quickly and unexpectedly as she had begun them, breathing hard as she brought her hips to stop.

Oliver’s cock  _throbbed_  between her thighs, and she heard him bite back a whimper and a groan as she lifted herself away from his lap.

“ _Please_ ,” he moaned, though it was almost inaudible over the sound of her own breathing. “Please, Mistress. Let me come. Please.”

“Nuh-uh,” Felicity shook her head. “Not yet.” 

And she slipped two fingers into her panties to rub at her clit, feeling it swell under her touch, her fingers slipping easily in the wetness she found at her her very core, making everything so much better. 

“Look at me, Oliver,” she commanded, rubbing in rough circles, barely paying attention to where her fingers were, “I want you to watch me.”

He groaned involuntarily, lifting his head obediently to meet her eyes, looking at her through impossibly long eyelashes that framed that intense, wonder-filled blue gaze. 

Seeing herself the way Oliver saw her, beautiful and radiant and  _his_ , had only been a fairly new development. She’d had a hard time believing she really was all that he thought she was, but now she knew better. He made her feel special. He made her feel wanted. He made her feel loved.

Felicity bucked into her own hand, cupping herself where she was hottest and wettest, her palm and fingers slick with her own arousal. 

She felt her orgasm building once more, racing along her nerves and in her veins; she pushed down harder on her clit, feeling the sensitive skin tingle and burn, and cried out as she shakily panted, “Touch yourself. I give you permission to come.”

Oliver thrust his hand into his underwear, gripping himself in hand and stroking in time with her own ministrations, matching her moan-for-moan as he finally let go. 

“Dammit,  _Felicity-_ ” he groaned, cutting himself off as she pushed herself into her hand one final time and came with a harsh gasp and high-pitched moan, the sound of her own name music to her ears and providing her with the push she needed to tip herself over the edge. 

At the same time, Oliver came into his underwear, soaking the thin fabric and groaning into her collarbone as he rode out his release.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him to her chest as they came down from the high, sweat shining on their skin and chests heaving. Her hair was stuck to her forehead and neck; she carded her fingers through his in smooth strokes, massaging the scalp underneath and the tense muscles at his neck and the juncture of his shoulders. 

“Felicity,” he gasped, again and again. “Felicity, Felicity, Felicity.....”

“Ssssh,” was her soothing reply, pressing him tighter to her body, damp with sweat and come. “It’s okay. It’s okay, everything’s okay. You’re safe. This is a safe space. You’re safe, Oliver.”

He whimpered against her skin, aftershocks coursing through his body, and she held him until his breathing evened out, until her heart stopped hammering. The stickiness at her thighs became uncomfortable as her skin cooled, and he was probably in a not dissimilar situation. 

“C’mon,” she coaxed, when their breathing returned to normal and she was sure that the last of his intense orgasm had left him, “time for bed.” She wrinkled her nose. “And maybe a change of clothes. I feel kind of disgusting now, don’t you? Not that I regret anything of what we just did. Of course not. It felt pretty amazing. Didn’t it feel amazing?”

He huffed something akin to a laugh. “Love you,” he murmured. 

“I love you, too,” she whispered back. 


End file.
